


Labor Day

by MagicInHerMadness



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, First Meeting, First Time, Fluff, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 20:19:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10601481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicInHerMadness/pseuds/MagicInHerMadness
Summary: September 1987. While spending the Labor Day holiday together, Ginny and Mike discovered they're both what the other has been missing.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by the movie "Labor Day" starring Kate Winslet.

September 1987 · Tarboro, North Carolina

Thursday

Ginny leaned closer to the windshield, cursing her old wiper blades for only making the least of headway against the torrential night rain. She wished she’d stayed at the diner longer, both for the extra hours and to avoid this spontaneous downpour. She swerved to avoid a dog inexplicably in the middle of the street and her side mirror hit something with a thud that made her sputter to a stop on the shoulder, turning to squint out the back window to see what she’d hit.

She guessed she’d leveled a road sign but couldn’t tell, the rain blurring the window from the outside as her heat fogged it up within. She sighed, took hold of the wheel to drive on, but a terrifying thought that it might have been a person made her grab her umbrella from under the seat and get out to investigate. Sure enough, a man was slowly getting up off the ground, brushing off his shirt and looking around.

“Are you okay?” she shouted over the rain as she stepped closer. He wasn’t bloody so she hoped she hadn’t hurt him badly.

“You took a hell of a shot at my ribs but yeah,” he replied, brushing his wet hair back from his face. Ginny stepped closer, sharing her umbrella.

The stranger peered at her with hooded blue eyes and she asked, “What are you doing out here?”

“Nowhere to go,” he answered with a shrug, his ruined leather jacket flopping with water. The rain slacked up a little and he pushed the umbrella back so it covered her more than him.

“You shouldn’t walk with your back to traffic.” She reached out to tentatively touch his midsection and he winced. “I’m so sorry.”

He shrugged, wincing again. “I can still breathe so it’s probably just a bruise.”

“I can’t leave you out here,” she insisted, looking back at her idling Jeep.

“Take me home then.”

Ginny shook her now damp hair. “I can take you to the hospital.”

“I don’t need a hospital. You didn’t hit me that hard.”

“Well I can’t take you home.”

“Why not?”

“If you were me, would you take home a stranger off the street?”

“If I hit him with my car, probably.” He shrugged and winced a third time. Ginny reached out to press on his sturdy middle and he grimaced, gently pushing her hand away. “I’m fine. I’ve had worse. Look, you can lock me in a closet if you want. I just need somewhere dry to sleep until I can catch a bus tomorrow.”

“Stand still.” He did as he was told, smirking when she handed him her umbrella because it was a perfect weapon of opportunity that she’d unwittingly handed over. She took his wallet out of his back pocket and looked at his license, raising it to his face to compare, then put it back. Ginny felt around in his other pockets and the waistband of his jeans then squatted to feel around the top of his boots. Finished and satisfied that he didn’t have any weapons on him, she stood and took the umbrella back. “Get in the car.”

He did as he was told and Ginny got in on the driver’s side, turning on the overhead light to examine him once again. “Put your hands on the dashboard and don’t move them.”

Again, he did as he was told and she pulled away from the curb. “So your parents named you Michaelangelo. Were they crazy or something?”

“Mom was. Dad was just absent,” he replied then turned to look at her. “You know my name but I don’t know yours.”

“Ginny.”

“As in Virginia?”

“As in Ginevieve.”

He snorted. “But you’re making fun of my name…”

She gave a glimmer of a smile, giving him a sidelong glance in the dark. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” he replied. “Although I’d prefer drier, less painful circumstances.”

Ginny snorted a laugh of her own then turned up the radio. She smiled at the song playing, began singing along. “ _I’ve been loving you much too long to stop now/ You are tired and you want to be free/ My love is growing stronger/ As you become a habit to me_ …”

The drive to her house wasn’t very long and they entered in silence, Ginny kicking off her wet shoes in the foyer next to several other pairs. Mike guessed she lived alone since all the shoes and jackets on the rack were hers. The living room confirmed his guess with its lack of pictures of her and a man, or signs that someone else lived there. He followed her into the warm kitchen and stood beside the table, dripping quietly.

Ginny brought him a towel from a little room off the side that he guessed was her laundry room and he dried his face and hair, watching as she turned on the coffee maker. He took off his jacket and draped it over the back of the chair beside him, thinking he’d feel better without it, but he found himself shivering as he made a futile attempt at drying himself.

“Follow me,” she instructed and led him out of the kitchen and up a set of creaking stairs to a blue bedroom that he guessed was hers. She pointed to a yellow bathroom. “You can shower in there. There’s clothes and all that in the left side of the dresser. Help yourself to whatever.”

She left him there and he went into the left set of dresser drawers and pulled out a beige shirt and a pair of sweatpants, all of it too large to have belonged to Ginny in any way. He reconsidered his assumption that she was single and looked around the room again, looking for some signs of a man. Finding none, he reconsidered the clothes, guessing they could have belonged to a large woman. He shrugged and went to the shower, figuring he’d know something sooner or later.

Downstairs, Ginny milled around the kitchen, pulling a pot of stew out of the refrigerator and setting it on the stove to heat while she poured cornbread batter out of a ziplock bag into a skillet coated with butter. She turned on the radio and let her hair down from its pile atop her head. Aaron Neville’s “Tell It Like It Is” blared from its small speakers and she sang along as she took dishes out of the cupboard. “ _If you are serious/ Don’t play with my heart/ It makes me furious/ But if you want me to love you/ Then baby I will/ Girl you know I will/ Tell it like it is_ …”

She left the kitchen, returning to the laundry room and retrieved a set of sheets and a flannel blanket then went to the living room and moved the coffee table aside to pull out the sofa bed. The ancient frame creaked, remaining stubbornly stuck as she tugged on it.

“Need some help?” She jumped at his voice, whipping around to stare wide-eyed at him as he stood at the bottom of the stairs. He wore a beige shirt and plaid pajama pants, his hair now neatly combed, and she had to admit that he was better looking than she’d assumed. She could do without his beard, but even it lent his face a certain charm. The soft scent of soap accompanied his presence and she briefly forgot that they were relatively strangers as he walked closer, gesturing to the bed and repeating his question.

“Oh. Yes.” She stepped back and he easily hefted the bed out of its couch shroud and set it up.

“I can make it up, myself,” he offered but she shook her head.

“I’ve got it. You’re hurt.” She made up the bed quickly, telling him he could have her spare pillow as he followed her back into the kitchen. She asked, “Are you hungry?”

“I could eat,” he answered. And he did, easily putting away two bowls of beef stew and a fourth of the skillet of cornbread as he sat at the table. Ginny leaned against the counter, watching him devour her food and two cups of coffee. When he finished, he leaned back in his chair and wiped his mouth and beard. “That was incredible.”

“Thank you.” Ginny wasn’t sure if her food was really incredible, or if she was just getting the compliments of a starving man, but she smiled anyway, color nestled in her cheeks until he turned his eyes on her. “I should get some bandages for your ribs.”

“You don’t have to,” he replied. “It doesn’t really hurt anymore.”

“I’d feel better if I bandaged you up.” She left the kitchen and he heard her footsteps on the stairs. When she returned, he was washing his dishes in her small farm sink. Ginny took them from him and set them aside. “I’ll do those.”

“It’s no trouble.” She shook her head and he shrugged, lifting his shirt to let her bandage him under the hanging kitchen light. Ginny walked around to examine the point of impact, frowning at the large bruise already blooming deep read below his shoulder blades. He hissed when her fingertips made contact.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, winding the ace bandage around his midsection and trying not to gawk at his broad chest even as the scent of soap on the thin patch of hair made her lightheaded.

When she was done, he lowered the shirt, feeling better. “Thank you.”

“No problem, she replied then went into the living room. Mike followed and sat on the bed, watching as she picked up her black purse. “Well I’m gonna turn in. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

She ascended the stairs, went into her bedroom, and shut the door. She was halfway to the bathroom before she turned back and locked the door. The bathroom smelled of him, leather and something woodsy that she breathed in embarrassingly deeply as she undressed and got in the shower. After the shower, she dressed for bed in a flannel nightshirt and climbed into bed, turning off her radio and the light. She had just closed her eyes when the sound drifted into her ears and made her get out of bed, creeping out of her room and down the stairs to peer into the dark living room.

He lay on his back, one arm slung over his head and the other over his midsection, his mouth open as he snored, her pillow forgotten. She tiptoed closer, pulled the blanket up over him, then went back upstairs to her own room, lying awake for a long while wondering about the sleeping stranger.

X

Friday

The next morning, she awoke as usual and climbed out of bed. She showered, dressed in a blue wrap dress sprinkled with white daisies then went downstairs. She turned on the radio before she opened the cabinet to find her cup, humming along to the song playing as she scooped coffee out of the can into a filter. The sight of Mike standing in the doorway made her jump, shrieking as she clutched her cup. He raised his hands in apology. “Sorry.”

“I forgot you were here,” she replied as she slumped against the counter, her heart hammering in her ears. She dragged her hand through her hair, breathed. “I’m sorry for screaming.”

“I’m sorry I scared you,” he replied.

Ginny didn’t reply immediately, instead frowning at him as she tilted her head. “Why are you naked?”

He blinked then looked down at his towel-covered bottom half. “You weren’t in your room when I went up so I used the shower. Forgive me but it’s been a few weeks since I had access to a clean shower with hot water.”

“Were you in prison?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No. Worse. Alabama. Where are my clothes?”

Ginny laughed, shook her head, then went to the laundry room to get his clothes out of the dryer. She handed them over and he went into the living room to dress.

“Can I ask you something?” he asked when he returned to the kitchen.

Gunny nodded. “Sure.”

“Did you kill your husband?”

Her eyes widened and she blinked at him. “No. Why do you ask?”

He shrugged as he went to the refrigerator and took out a carton of eggs. “You’ve got all these men’s clothes and no man. You don’t even have a picture of one.”

She stood and went to the pig-shaped cookie jar on the counter, taking off the head and turning it upside down to empty it of its single content. Mike watched as she slipped the ring on her left ring finger then turned to frown at him. “Every time he leaves for another trip, I take it off, say I’m gonna be gone when he comes back, but it’s been five years and I’m still here wondering what else is out there for me.”

Mike looked at the little diamond on her hand then at her dejected expression, unsure of what to say other than, “I’m sorry.”

Ginny nodded. “He used to love me like crazy. You couldn’t pull us apart. I felt… _unbelievable_ in his arms. I don’t wanna leave. I just want him to be that way again.”

“Do you think he will?”

Ginny shook her head, looking down at her shoes. “Not for me. Business isn’t good enough to pull him away from home like it does.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, his hand moving to replace a fallen curl and accidentally brushing the apple of her cheek. He couldn’t imagine leaving behind eyes like hers, but he’d known his share of fools.

Still, he realized he had looked at her too long when she squirmed under his gaze, his hand still lingering on her cheek, and he went into the freezer, took out a pack of ground beef. Ginny watched him move around the kitchen, going into the bottom cabinets and picking out two cans of chili beans. She briefly marveled at his comfort as he looked through her spice rack, picked out cinnamon and brown sugar.

“You cook?”

“I make one thing: chili,” he replied as he took out a pot and a pan from a lower cabinet, then went to the refrigerator again to get onions.

“Chili for breakfast?”

He smiled. “With eggs.”

Ginny took her coffee to the table and sat down, watching him work, humming along to the radio. He turned on the stove, set the metal skillet on the fire to heat up, melting a little butter in it. He diced onions while the pan heated up then dropped them in, letting them brown a moment while he attended to the defrosted meat. He sprinkled the meat with salt, cinnamon, and brown sugar, massaged the spices into it, then put it in the pan with the onions. He opened the cans of chili beans, dumped them in the pot then added more cinnamon and brown sugar.

“You never wanna let the meat cook completely in the pan. Let it finish with the beans so it can absorb the flavor and give some to the beans,” he said as he scraped the meat and onions into the bean pot. He covered the pot with a lid. “The worst thing you can do is _cook_ your chili. Stirring and checking it keeps it from settling how it wants. So you leave it and that’s the perfect time to make your biscuits.”

He went to the cabinet, got flour and sugar. Ginny watched as he mixed the dough in a large bowl, working slowly and diligently, singing softly. “ _The time is right/ You hold me tight/ And love’s got me high/ Please tell me yes/ And don’t say no/ Honey not tonight_ …”

“ _I need to have you next to me/ In more ways than one/ And I refuse to leave/ ‘Til I see that morning sun/ Creep through your windowpane/ Cause love won’t let me wait_ ,” Ginny joined as she peeled an orange, her eyes still on Mike’s muscular frame as he moved in front of the counter, using a glass to cut biscuits from the dough. “There’s a cookie sheet in that cabinet above you.”

He nodded, took the cookie sheet and wax paper from the cabinet then slathered it with butter before he placed his biscuits on it. He stuck the biscuits in the oven then remarked, “Now if you know what you’re doing, by the time you smell these biscuits, the chili is perfect.”

He sat at the table, watched as Ginny ate her orange, reading the newspaper. “Can I have the crossword puzzle?”

Ginny looked through the paper until she found the section for him and handed it over. Mike took a pen from the bowl of miscellaneous items on the table beside the fruit bowl and set to work on the puzzle, the room quiet except for the quiet radio. He answered a few then frowned. “Three letters. Exotic bird.”

“Emu,” Ginny answered, not looking up from the article she was reading.

Mike filled it in, moved on until he got stuck on another word. “Seven letters. The color of sinful correspondence. What does that even mean?”

“Scarlet,” Ginny answered. “As in _The Scarlet Letter_.”

“You’re good at this,” he remarked.

“Trevor and I used to do those on Sundays.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Do I miss it or him?”

“Both I guess.”

“I guess I miss the company more than anything. He was my best friend once upon a time.”

“That’s the worst part of being single. All you want is good company, and it seems like the hardest thing in the world to come by.” Ginny shyly met his gaze but quickly dropped her eyes back to the newspaper. Mike’s face warmed and he was grateful for the smell of the biscuits. He got up and went to the chili pot, taking the lid off and releasing its mouth-watering scent into the kitchen. Stirring the chili, he asked, “How do you take your eggs?”

“Sunny side up,” Ginny answered.

“Scrambled it is,” he replied and she laughed as she got up to go the sink.

“Do you mind if I smoke?” she asked as she opened the window.

“Not at all.”

She took her pack of cigarettes out of the drawer beside the sink and knocked one out of the pack. Mike watched as she lit it, leaning over to blow smoke out the window. “Trevor always did want me to quit and heaven knows I tried, but a waitress who doesn’t smoke is like a bald barber. Now I allow myself one a week.”

Mike laughed as he scraped eggs out of the skillet onto a plate. “You really live right on the edge, huh?”

By the time she finished her cigarette, he was popping the biscuits off the tray and piling a plate high with them. He carried them both to the table and Ginny followed, sitting down as he went to the stove to fill two bowls with chili. She asked, “So where are you from, Mike?”

“California, but it’s been almost ten years since I’ve been back,” he replied as he sat down and placed a steaming bowl of chili before her.

Ginny smiled, watching as he ripped a biscuit to pieces and dropped it in his chili. “That’s why you were walking around in the rain. You’ve never seen it before.”

Mike smiled, shook his head. “It rains in California. It just doesn’t fuck around when it does. It’s a monsoon or nothing.”

Ginny laughed. “It’s pretty pleasant here except twister season. I remember the first year Trevor and I lived here, twister came through and ripped up every tree we had. Didn’t even touch the house.”

“Lucky break,” he replied.

Ginny nodded then asked, “So what made you leave Hollywood behind? Too many movie stars and supermodels?”

Mike gave a glimmer of a smile as he shook his head. “My wife left me, moved in with my best friend. Took my little girl with her. Well, I thought she was mine. Cut her umbilical cord and everything.”

“I’m so sorry,” she murmured.

“Just a memory now.” He shrugged, picked up his fork, then asked, “How far is the bus station from here?”

Ginny frowned. “It’s about ten miles but you can’t go anywhere today. It’s Labor Day. Everything’s closed until Monday for the holiday.”

Mike frowned as he chewed his chili. “Well shit. What am I supposed to do until then?”

“You could,” Ginny bit her lip, giving herself a moment to back out of her offer before she made it, “stay here. I mean, since you don’t have anywhere to go and all.”

She was surprised by the light that sparked in his eyes as they flickered to meet her gaze. “Thank you.”

She wasn’t sure what possessed to get up and envelope him in a hug, only that he was slow enough to reciprocate for her to realize how strange it must have been to get a hug from a relative stranger. She let him go, her cheeks hot, and cleared her throat. “You’re welcome.”

Mike watched her scurry from the kitchen, her footsteps quick and light on the stairs.

X

Saturday

The next day, Mike mopped and waxed the living room floor. He was moving down the hallway when Ginny descended the stairs, dressed in an olive-green sundress with two sets of thin white straps and red leather sandals, her hair twisted atop her head in a loose coil. He stopped at the sight of her, explained, “I hope you don’t mind. I thought I’d earn my keep a little.”

Ginny shook her head, stepping around him carefully and walking to the living room then the kitchen. She heard him going over the steps, his boots clonking on the hardwood. She turned on the coffeemaker and the radio then went into the cabinets to get sugar and flour. She listened as he finished his mopping then carried the bucket of water past her out the back door to dump the water out.

“How do you like your pancakes?” she asked when he returned, going to the sink to wash his hands.

“This place in Chattanooga made them like actual cakes. Like they were as thick as my hand,” he replied.

Ginny nodded, explained, “Those are called hoe cakes.”

“They’re the best thing in the world.” He left the kitchen and Ginny heard the shower turn on above her a few minutes later. She smiled as she set to work on his hoe cakes, putting sausage in another skillet.

After breakfast, Mike replaced the furnace filter. After that, he stopped the front door from squeaking. He checked Ginny’s recently delivered quart of firewood and informed her that she was being cheated. Ginny set to work doing laundry while he cleaned the gutters, and when he came inside, his white t-shirt slick with sweat and his hands dirty with gunk, Ginny took it from him. She added it to a load of whites that contained his sheets from the night before. She came back into the kitchen and watched him scrub his hands at the sink for a moment, his back and shoulders flexing, then joined him, using a washcloth to clean the grit out of the lines of his palms. Mike watched her work gently, cleaning his hands. She pointed to a long line going up the center of his palm. “Your lifeline has breaks.”

“What does that mean?” he asked, glancing up at her face, briefly marveling at her profile.

 “The break is a stop in the course of your life. The continuation is a new beginning.”

“That sounds terrifying.”

 “This poet named Nayirrah Waheed said, ‘You will be lost and unlost, over and over. Relax love. You were meant to be this glorious epic story’.” Ginny shrugged, showed him her own palm. “I’ve got the break in my love line. See? I think I’m having my break. Now I’m just waiting on my new start.”

Mike smiled. “I guess I feel better.”

Ginny smiled back, turned off the water and went to the laundry room, taking the sheets out of the stopped washer. She took them to the backyard and Mike followed, helping her hang them on the clothesline. “I’ve got a dryer but I’ve always loved wind-dried sheets. Something about the sunshine just makes them smell so good.”

Mike nodded, securing a sheet on the line. Ginny noticed his back pocket falling off his jeans, but he shrugged when she pointed it out. “It’s been like that since Arizona.”

“I’ll fix it,” she offered and Mike followed her back into the kitchen, sitting at the table with a glass of water while she went to get her sewing kit. After she set to work, she glanced at him, her lips smirking around the thread held between them. “You know, this is much easier to do when you’re not wearing the jeans.”

“These are my favorite jeans. I wear them every day.”

“So I see.” The jeans were barely blue anymore, and so soft that she could hardly believe they were Levi’s. “Still, don’t you think you should have another pair? Just in case?”

He shook his head. “There’s no jeans better than these.”

“Which is why you’ve worn them until they aren’t blue anymore.”

“Pretty much.” Mike laughed, watching her nimble fingers tie off the neat line of stitches. She then went to the bedroom and retrieved a pair of jeans that she gave him upon her return to the kitchen. “Try these out.”

He took the jeans into the living room and tried them on, coming back into the kitchen with a lopsided grin. “They’re nice, but I prefer mine.”

“Still, a spare would be nice, don’t you think?” He nodded, looking down at the still-dark jeans as he sat at the table. “You can keep those. Trevor’s just like you with wearing that same old pain until they’re past fixing.”

Mike smiled. “Thanks.”

She went to the pantry and grabbed a plastic basket then asked, “You wanna come with me to the farmer’s market? I’ve gotta get some blueberries for pie.”

“Okay,” he replied, following her into the living room where she picked up her purse and went out the front door. He followed her to the Jeep and got in on the passenger side, watching as she slipped sunglasses on her beautiful face then started the car, frowning when it sputtered.

“Come on. Come on. Come on,” she coaxed, turning the key again but the car refused.

Mike pointed to her “check engine” light. “How long has that been on?”

She shrugged. “Probably since the winter but I’ve never had any trouble.”

Mike got out of the car and walked around to its front to lift the hood. He leaned around the hood and asked, “When’s the last time you changed the oil?”

“The last time the light was on,” she answered.

“For future reference, you can’t wait for the light to come on before you change the oil. That’s like using a smoke detector as an oven timer.”

Ginny shrugged. “So what do we do now?”

“Do you have any motor oil?”

She shrugged again. “Trevor might have left some in the shed. He’s been planning to change the oil ‘next week’ for three months.”

Mike followed her around the house to the small shed in the corner of the backyard. Ginny opened the door and stepped inside, turning on the hanging light. She looked through Trevor’s crates, unfortunately finding nothing. “There’s none in here but there’s a gas station about a mile up the road. We can walk.”

“You don’t have to come with me,” he insisted.

Ginny shrugged, shook her head. “I’d like to.”

She put her basket in the back of the Jeep and Mike gestured to the road. “After you, I guess.”

Ginny started up the sidewalk and Mike fell in step with her, slipping his hands in his pockets. “So what do you do out here in the country when he’s gone?”

“Cook,” she replied. “I waitress a few days a week but I make most of my money making jam for the seasons. You know, apple cinnamon for winter, sweet lemon for spring, peach for summer, boysenberry for fall. And people love my pies. I probably make two dozen a day before Thanksgiving.”

“Must be good pie.” He smiled as he imagined her adorably splotched with flour, her hair piled up on her head.

“I imagine so. People buy them two and three at a time. And I made a wedding cake that was supposedly so good the bride licked the plate,” she replied then asked, “Do you miss California?”

Mike shrugged. “Sometimes. But missing California is usually just me missing Rachel and I try not to do that.”

“What did she say?”

“Nothing. I got home from work early and she was packing her things, told me she wasn’t happy anymore. I asked her if it was me and she told me it wasn’t, that it was him. She couldn’t be without him anymore.”

“I keep waiting for Trevor to tell me the same thing, that whatever keeps him gone won’t wait anymore. I don’t know what I’d do, but I imagine I’d be relieved to finally know something.” She pulled her pack of cigarettes from her purse, said, “This one doesn’t count because of the holiday.”

“Wanna share it? It’ll count even less.” Mike smiled briefly then frowned. “That’s the worst part about being cheated on. The betrayal hurts, but mostly you’re just wondering. How you missed it, and what you’re missing that the other person’s got.”

“The way I see it, we might not be so bad off. All they’ve really got is a cheating lover, and my mama always said how you get them is how you lose them.”

“That’s true.” His hand flexed, his fingers brushing the back of her hand like he might hold it but he seemed to reconsider.

She took a drag then passed the cigarette to him, their hands brushing as he took it. They were halfway to the gas station when a silver car stopped opposite them on the road. The window rolled down and a woman’s head popped out. “Ginny!”

Ginny squinted in the sunshine then grinned. “Hey Ev!”

She trotted across the empty road and Mike followed, standing beside her until she got in the car. He unsurely climbed into the backseat, watching Ginny grin at the darker-complexioned woman who asked, “What are you doing walking in this heat?”

“Truck’s on the fritz again so we were going to the gas station to get some oil.”

“I was just headed your way to drop off some cherries.” She turned her car around on the road, headed the direction they’d been walking.

Ginny turned to Mike. “Do you mind cherry pie instead of blueberry?”

He shook his head, smiling. “Not at all.”

Ev turned to look at him, seemingly noticing him for the first time. “Hey. I’m Evelyn.”

“Mike,” he replied, smiling at her.

A few minutes later, they were in the gas station parking lot. Ginny handed him a twenty dollar bill. “Is this enough?”

“Too much,” he replied.

“Well get some oranges and we’ll make sangria while the pie bakes.”

He nodded and got out of the car, leaving Ginny and Evelyn alone. Evelyn remarked, “He’s cute. Who is he?”

“His name is Mike. He’s from California,” Ginny replied.

“Well shit I feel like I’ve known him forever.” Evelyn rolled her eyes.

“What do you wanna know, Ev?”

“Where he came from. What he’s doing with you. Why I didn’t know about him.” She turned, her eyebrows raised as she looked at her best friend. “Is he some kind of mail-order man?”

“Mail-order man? Like a prostitute?” Ginny frowned then rolled her eyes.

“So who is he?” Evelyn’s eyes widened. “Are you having a fling while Trevor’s gone? Because if you are, don’t tell me anything else so I can be surprised when he tells Blip. Or, tell me everything so I can give Blip the details he won’t get from Trevor.”

“I can’t decide if you’re the best kind of friend or the worst,” Ginny replied then shook her head. “He’s…I actually don’t know. He fixes things.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? Where did you meet him, Gin?”

“I sort of hit him with my car Thursday night. Well, clipped is a better description. And I was sure I broke his ribs so I took him home to fix him up—”

“You hit him with your car and took him home?” Evelyn stared at her best friend with wide eyes.

“He said he didn’t need to go to the hospital but I patched him up anyway.”

Evelyn raked her fingers through her hair. “Okay walk me through the line of thinking that led you to bring home a strange man from nowhere? Specifically the point where you ignored the possibility that he could come after you with an axe and no one would know until he was long gone.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “I’ll tell you what, Ev, if he kills me, you can be smug at my funeral.”

“That’s not funny.”

“And he’s not scary, or crazy. He’s just…lonely.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I’m lonely too.”

“I’m not comfortable leaving you alone with him, Gin.”

Ginny sighed. “Well he had ample time to kill me and get away, yet here I am living and breathing.”

Mike got back into the car, a crate of motor oil under his arm and a bag of oranges in the other. He handed over Ginny’s change and held out two popsicles, one a Tweety Bird and the other a Roadrunner. “Which do you want?”

She took the Tweety and handed him the other, turning to smile over the seat. “Can I have your eyes?”

Mike nodded, popped the bubblegum eyes out of the popsicle after he unwrapped it then handed them over. Evelyn watched, her eyebrows raised, but made no comment as she pulled out of the parking lot. She took them back to Ginny’s house, prepared to get out of the car and accompany them until Ginny cut her off, giving her hand a firm squeeze. “Well I’ll call you.”

Evelyn almost pushed the issue but instead nodded. “You better.”

Ginny and Mike sat on the front porch to finish their popsicles. Mike asked, “Have you ever been to Florida?”

Ginny nodded. “But just to Disneyworld.”

“I think that’s where I’ll go next,” he replied.

Ginny turned to look at him. “Do you think you’ll ever stay in one place again?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I can just put down roots again.”

“I think you can.” Her voice was soft, her eyes on the road before them. “When it feels right, you’ll stay and it’ll be the easiest thing in the world.”

“Maybe.” He finished his popsicle, turning briefly to take in her profile before his eyes moved back to the road. Ginny’s hand found his and she shyly slid her fingers between his, closing them around his large hand. A moment later he did the same, wrapping his fingers around hers. Mike wasn’t sure how long they sat that way, just that the phone rang in the house and startled Ginny who jumped up to answer it so quickly that he momentarily forgot their hands were intertwined until she gave the gentlest pull—so soft he might call it reluctant—and he let go, his face hot. When she went into the house, he picked up the crate of oil and went to the truck to get started changing the oil.

Later that evening, Ginny was cleaning up the dinner dishes, listening to Mike flip channels on the television in the living room. She put away their plates then went into the living room, asked, “Need anything before I turn in?”

He looked up at her, deciding to settle his gaze on a spot slightly above her shoulder. “Oh. Um, do you maybe wanna watch _Saturday Night Live_ with me?”

Ginny wasn’t sure what made him so nervous about asking her to watch tv with him, but it made her cheeks warm as well. She nodded, squeaked, “Okay. I’ll just go change.”

Mike nodded, watching as she skipped upstairs. In her bedroom, Ginny slipped on an old sweatshirt and a pair of boxers, releasing her hair from its coil. She pulled on tube socks and headed for the door, stopping abruptly then turning back to her dresser to put a little perfume behind her ears. She headed back downstairs, sitting beside Mike on the reassembled couch. He offered his blanket and Ginny draped it over her bare legs as he settled a bag of chips between them.

Halfway through the show, Ginny nodded off, her head falling on Mike’s shoulder. She awoke when his hand clasped her waist, looking at him with suddenly alert eyes until his arm slid around her. Mike watched as she resumed laying on him, scooting closer to snuggle into his warmth. It didn’t take long for her eyes to fall closed again.

X

Sunday

When they awoke the next morning, Ginny’s face warmed with blush as she pulled it from Mike’s neck, his arms shrouding her in an embrace. Mike sat up, his arms still around her as they stared at each other in the light peeking through the living room curtains.

“Good morning,” she yawned.

Mike reluctantly let her go, his hands lingering in the small of her back. “You are beautiful in the morning.”

Ginny smiled, blushing as she climbed off his lap. “What do you want for breakfast?”

“Surprise me,” he replied.

“We can make those pies,” she answered. “But you can’t tell anyone my recipe.”

Mike smiled. “Your secrets are safe with me.”

He followed her into the kitchen, starting the coffee maker as she gathered her supplies on the table. She placed the bowl of cherries on the table and Mike watched as she doused them with brandy. “Little known fact about cherries: they love liquor. And they’re strong enough to hold up to it without losing their sweetness. Now we can leave them here while we make the dough.”

Mike watched her mix the ingredients in a large bowl that she gave to him. “You’re stronger than me so you can mix faster.”

He mixed the dough as she instructed, watching her move around the kitchen, preheating the oven, greasing her pans, pouring coffee for both of them. Before she rolled out the dough and sprinkled it with dusting flour, she turned on the radio.

“Now a pie’s filling doesn’t have to be amazing—mine is—but if the crust is terrible, you’re finished before you start. No one’s gonna even attempt it.” She lined a round pan with the bottom crust. “Since the crust is good, we’ve gotta work on this filling. The only thing worse than good pie with an ugly crust is good crust with nasty filling. It’s the biggest let down in the world.”

Mike moved to stand behind her, peering over her shoulder at the bowl of cherries. “They’ve settled in this brandy so we can move on to the spices. I like to use cinnamon and brown sugar on cherries, sometimes a little nutmeg. They’re already sweetened with the liquor so you should always ass some spice as a counterpoint.”

She added the spices to the cherries then stuck her hands in the bowl. “When you mix, you wanna mash up some of the cherries. The problem with using fresh ones is that the canned ones have their own filling from being preserved and fresh ones don’t, so we have to make our own.”

Mike sheepishly added his hands to the bowl and helped her mix the spices, singing along to the radio. “ _I’m not meant to live alone/ Please turn this house into a home_ —”

“ _When I climb the stairs and turn the key/ Oh please be there/ Saying that you’re still in love with me_ ,” Ginny finished.

“Is that what you want from him?”

Ginny shrugged. “In a perfect world, I guess. But I don’t know if I’d accept it, him coming back to me because what he’s got out there isn’t what he thought.”

“Why do you stay?” he asked quietly.

She shrugged. “It isn’t be a matter of me leaving so much as it would be of him just not coming back.”

“Do you ever think he won’t? Like, one day he’ll be late and then…”

“All the time. Soon probably,” she answered with a nod. “I try not to think of it too much but it’s like walking on a frozen lake and hearing ice crack. Even if it’s not the ice you’re standing on at the moment, it’s gonna get to you eventually, probably sooner than later.”

“What will you do then?”

“Move on. No other choice.” She shrugged, frowning a little. “I don’t stay because I’m so in love with him, mind you. That ship sailed and sunk a while ago. I stay because… Because I don’t know what else is out there for me, if there’s anything at all.”

Mike nodded. “I understand.”

He took his hands out of the bowl, wiped them clean on a towel. Ginny stiffened when his arms encircled her, but she relaxed quickly. His nose brushed her curls then the shell of her ear, finally dropping to the curve of her jaw. Ginny gasped when his lips followed, brushing the lamb soft skin below her earlobe.

She turned her head, kissed his chin. Mike kissed her nose, cradled her face in his hands before he pressed his lips to hers. Ginny’s hands left red prints on the back of Mike’s white t-shirt as she clutched fistfuls of the thin cotton, tilting her head to deepen the kiss. Mike wondered how long it had been since she’d been kissed, and by someone who meant it. His hands slipped under her sweatshirt, palms caressing her warm flesh as he worked his way down to the waistband of the pinstriped boxers hanging on her thin hips. He slipped his hand inside her shorts, swallowing Ginny’s exhaled sigh when he found the firm bud nestled between her slick folds. He massaged it in slow circles until her teeth clamped onto his neck, the rest of her trembling.

 “Kiss me again,” she whispered into his neck. Mike lifted her chin with his free hand, kissed her hard, his tongue massaging hers.

He trailed kisses down her body to the valley of soft, sparse curls between her thighs. Ginny’s head tipped back, one hand braced against the wall for support as he hooked her leg over his shoulder. His mouth closed over her, finding the small swollen nub and gently drawing it into his mouth while running his tongue back and forth over it, playing her like an instrument. She was so warm and wet that Mike groaned aloud, her sweet, spicy taste leaving him drunk with desire.

Ginny’s entire world narrowed to the blissful ache building within her as his skillful tongue lapped at her. She didn't recognize her own voice. Part of her felt she should be ashamed of the carnal moans that were coming out of her, but his mouth and fingers were insistent. Her hips took on a life of their own, arching up into his mouth riding the crest of pleasure that was coursing through her in undulating waves. Mike felt a deep sense of satisfaction at the intensity of her orgasm even as his erection strained painfully against the confinement of his trousers.

She squeezed his shoulders urgently and Mike kissed his way back to her mouth. Ginny’s hands fell to his jeans, working quickly to push them off his hips. She lifted her leg, wrapped it around his waist, her arms around his neck to pull him as close as they could be. Mike moved his hand from her center to his erection, throbbing as it slid between her wet folds. Ginny lowered herself onto it, hissing as he stretched her open.

The world slowed to half speed as he moved inside her, his face in her neck, his arms around her waist, holding her up as she balanced on the ball of her right foot. Ginny saw stars as he sucked on the sweet spot just above the dip in her collarbone.

The phone rang, jolting her back into reality but Mike held onto her firmly. “They’ll call back.”

Still, the intrusion of reality broke the spell for Ginny. She moaned, “We shouldn’t…My husband…”

“Isn’t here,” he replied, pulling his face from her neck to squint at her, his hips never pausing their slow, merciful grind. He held her face, the calloused palm of his thumb caressing her cheek as she panted, staring at him with wide eyes, her pupils blown. “Let me make you feel good.”

Ginny stared a moment longer and he stopped, prepared to let her go, but she pulled his face close, kissed him hungrily. “Make me feel good.”

She relaxed into his embrace, succumbed completely to the pleasure of the moment, losing her grip on reality completely until she fell apart in his arms, trembling and clinging to him tightly as something deep inside her unwound. Mike neared his end soon after, groaning her name against her slick skin as his thrusts lost all finesse, his hips chasing the fire blazing in his belly.

They leaned against the wall, their breathing choppy as they clung to each other’s sweaty frames. Mike kissed the curve of her jaw and her chin, wherever his lips could reach without lifting his head from her shoulder. “I would say we should finish making the pie but that doesn’t seem very hygienic.”

Ginny laughed, nodded, then replied, “Let’s take a bath.”

They went upstairs to her bathroom, Mike sitting in the tub while Ginny ran water over him. When it covered his lower half, she joined him, sitting on his lap as he lathered her with soap, her hair piled atop her head. Mike leaned out of the tub and turned on the radio sitting on the counter. “This is a terrible place to keep a radio by the way.”

“It’s not electric,” she assured with a smile.

Mike took the sponge off the hook beside the tub, lathered it with soap then washed her back. Ginny let out a content sigh, leaning forward so he could reach everything. He whispered, “You are so beautiful. I’ve never been with a woman so beautiful.”

Ginny smiled, ran her fingers through his hair then down to his beard, settling contentedly in his beard. “I’m sure you say that to all the lonely housewives you seduce.”

He chuckled, kissed the underside of her chin. “Believe it or not, you’re the first woman I’ve been with since Rachel.”

Ginny nodded. “I’ve never been with anyone but Trevor. Nice to know what I’ve been missing.”

“Which is?”

“Multiple orgasms,” she replied with a smile. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s nice being close to him and all, but we were together five years before I figured out what made your eyes roll back in your head.”

Mike laughed as he rinsed her back. “I can’t remember the last time I did this with someone. It was probably when Rachel was pregnant. She could hardly lift her arms her belly was so big so we used to take baths so I could help bathe her. It was so cramped in our little tub but I never wanted those days to end. That’s what I miss the most, being with someone you’re so crazy about that you’ll do anything with them. You’ll stay up all night talking about nonsense because you don’t wanna fall asleep and risk missing a minute of them.”

“You know what I miss? Being in love. Those silly butterflies and how seeing them smile is enough to make you smile. You know, feeling fifteen all the time. There used to be days when Trevor could just grin at me and you’d think he’d hung the moon from the stars in my eyes. I just wanna feel that way again with someone who won’t go looking for shinier eyes or a prettier smile.”

“There isn’t a woman alive with a smile more beautiful than yours,” Mike replied, sitting up and shrouding her in his embrace.

When the water chilled, they got out of the tub, Ginny wrapping herself in a towel and Mike wrapping himself around her as they dried off in the afternoon light. She pulled on the black t-shirt he’d been wearing the night they met and Mike put on his boxers and jeans, following her to the kitchen the finish the pie. While it baked, they sat on the porch swing, sharing a cigarette as they rocked the swing gently in the warm breeze.

“Will you always remember me?” Ginny asked and Mike turned away from the street to look at her.

“What?”

“After you leave, will you remember me?”

He nodded, taking the cigarette from his mouth and passing it back to her, his hands falling to her bare legs draped over his lap. “I’ll never forget a second of you.”

“Do you think you’ll ever come back this way?”

“Are you asking me to?”

Ginny frowned, softly admitted, “I can’t ask you that. I just… I won’t forget a second of you.”

“Ginny, I want… If I could…” He shook his head, taking the cigarette from where it dangled between her fingers.

“I know,” she replied, scooting close and folding her legs up so she could wrap her arms around him and lay her head on his shoulder.

They stayed that way until the oven timer dinged and Ginny let him go, yawning as she stood. She went into the kitchen and took the pie from the oven then opened the window above the sink to sit it on the sill.

“It’ll be about twenty minutes before—“ She stopped, her eyes widening and her mouth falling open as she came face to face with Trevor, standing on the porch beside Mike whose expression was similar to her own.

“What’s going on?” he asked, looking from one of them to the other.

Ginny’s face heated up, suddenly very aware that she wasn’t wearing any pants. “I… I thought you wouldn’t be back until tomorrow.”

“So I see,” he replied. Despite knowing him almost as well as she knew herself, Ginny couldn’t read his expression. He didn’t seem particularly angry, or surprised at finding another man in his home. If she had to guess, Ginny thought he might have been annoyed at her inability to keep her secret as well he imagined he was keeping his own.

“I’m uh… I should go.” Mike stepped around her and went into the house, getting his boots and shirt from their pile on the kitchen floor then coming back out of the house. He gave Ginny’s hand a squeeze as he passed her but she didn’t look at him, her expression still fixed in its surprised state as she stared at Trevor, seemingly waiting for his decision on how things would proceed. Mike brushed past the man, glancing at Ginny once more when he reached the street. She made no move to follow him and he shook his head then started up the path they’d walked the day before, figuring he could get directions to the bus station or somewhere to stay the night at the gas station.

“Do you love him?” Trevor asked, finally starting her back into the moment.

“Yes,” she breathed immediately. She nodded, seeming to animate instantly with the confirmation. “I love him. I—”

It seemed to only occur to her at that moment that Mike had left and she’d done nothing to stop him. Her eyes widened as she dashed into the house to dress. Trevor followed, watching her throw off her t-shirt and pull on a dress grabbed hastily from the closet. He tossed her sandals at her feet. “You probably need those.”

She stepped into the shoes and ran from the house, Trevor following once more to watch her run down the street. He was surprised at her speed, never having seen her move so fast. Ginny ran down the path, looking but seeing nothing as she wondered how far Mike could have gotten in those few minutes. She collided with a solid frame and jumped back, prepared to apologize to whatever stranger she’d nearly toppled but stopping when she finally focused on their surprised face. Mike stared back at her, his eyes wide.

“What—”

She shook her head. “You can’t go. I can’t let you leave.”

“You did,” he replied with a frown.

“I—” She shook her head, her breathing choppy.

Mike smoothed her wild curls, watched as she struggled to catch her breath. “Take a few deep breaths. It’ll slow your heart down.”

She nodded, did as he said, turning her back to him and doubling over, her hands on her knees as she slowed her breathing. When her heart settled to a quickened thud, she turned back to him. “I shouldn’t have. I don’t know what happened. I just… Don’t leave.”

 “Gin, I love you. It’s the craziest thing I’ve ever done, falling in love over a weekend, but I did. I love you. I’m in love with you. You’re the love of my life. But I won’t be this,” he gestured between them, shook his head. “I won’t be the other man in your life, only coming around when he leaves then having to let you go when he’s back. I won’t. I can’t.”

“That’s not what I’m asking!” She shook her head, reaching for his hand to hold it in both of hers. “I’m asking you to stay because I can’t live without you. I can’t live with him anymore. It’s not enough. Being with you— Loving you the way I have these past few days— He’s not enough anymore. No one will ever be enough after you, so stay. Please. Stay here and watch me choose you. Don’t make me the second woman foolish enough to let you go.”

Mike gathered her in his arms, held her almost tight enough to hurt and kissed her breathless once again, panting as he rested his forehead on hers. “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it. Please don’t.”

“I mean it,” she assured, nodding. “I mean it. I love you too. I’m in love with you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I am needy and crave feedback


End file.
